


Carrying On

by DerpyMcButtface



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:08:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerpyMcButtface/pseuds/DerpyMcButtface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(AU: Chuck lives, but is disabled. He feels like without Kaiju and Jaegers, there isn't a place for him anyways in the world. Can't hold down a job, can't bring himself to accept help, can't seem to be able to do anything about it.)</p><p>“Everything’s moving fast, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Everyone’s moving on, and you’re being left behind?”</p><p>Rage flares in him, and Chuck grabs his letter in his hands and prepares to rip it to shreds. </p><p>She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Stop it,” she says quietly. “In this world, only the strong survive.”</p><p> </p><p>-Mainly Chuck, some Mako</p><p>Mentions of other characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carrying On

They won.

Five years later, he still doesn’t feel like they won. 

In fact he feels like he’s lost. Just earlier today, his tenth boss in a row has kindly offered to write him a nice recommendation, if he’d just find a job somewhere else.

He doesn’t know why “somewhere else” would change anything. Just an endless blur of gray and schedule, getting up, going to work, going home, doing nothing all day, just for a piece for paper that apparently gives him money?

He can’t. He can take it for one day, but after a week he’d rather die than go back. Even in Hong Kong, where job offers are more numerous than the people to fill them, he can’t hold down anything for long.

Worse than that, it’s the “Oh, I heard of you, Striker Eureka, I’m flattered, honored to meet you…” Followed by “Let me pay for your drink. Actually, I know a man who knows someone who’s hiring…” 

Over and over again. 

Worst of all, it’s his old “friends.” 

Mako called yesterday. Her voice is quiet and worried. Chuck, I heard you got into another fight. Chuck, I heard you got fired again. Chuck, there’s a position open that I think you’re qualified for.

He had shouted at her to stop calling him and hung up. 

Somehow, he always ends up back on the beach outside what used to be the stage of their final stand. He thinks he can imagine the smell of oil, steel, and paint. Today, the sun has long set, and he can only smell fish. 

There’s a shape in the darkness. Chuck already know what it is- it’s Hong Kong’s memorial to their sons, the Wei Tang Triplets. He’s been out there once to see it, a bronze statue of the brothers embracing, on the place where the Crimson Typhoon had fallen. The triplets had died long ago, fighting in their Jaeger. Today there wasn’t a house in all of Asia that didn’t have their portrait hanging on a wall. Their remains were buried further inland. Of course ‘remains’ was an entirely relative term, as the recovery teams had only found their three mangled bodies beneath the ways. At least it was better than the fate of the Russians. Only the top half of their heads, protected by the extra thick helmet from the explosion that had killed the Kaidonovskys, had remained. He had seen them brought in like some sort of sick trophy, and he had seen them being mailed back to Russia on dry ice. 

Lucky them, Chuck muses. 

He turns his attention back to the letter.

The Office for Disability. They’ve been mailing him nonstop to fill out the forms so that he can “get help.” Get handouts, they mean. Sit back and be helpless and wait for someone else to take care of yourself, they mean. A flash of anger crosses his face, and Chuck prepares to toss the envelope into the ocean.

“Careful, there.”

There’s a woman sitting in a fold-up chair on the beach. She’s dressed in dark colors, but the bandages and plasters all over her body shine in the darkness. One leg is sealed in a cast, and the other is gone below the knee. Her head is turned in his direction, but her entire face is obscured by bandages, save for her red lips like a gash. Her voice is familiar, but he can’t put his finger on it. She has the same accent as the Russians, from a long time, but other than that he can’t quite tell why it sounds familiar. 

Then it clicks.

“Oi.” He approaches the stranger, his hands out and open to show that he means no harm. “Hey. Sorry, are you…?” He can’t put the name on his tongue. What was it again? Started with a K, right? 

“I’m Alexandra. Alexandra Antonova.” The woman hands him her identification card. It’s a very old ID, and he can’t tell where it’s from, but it’s in English. The picture is blurry in the darkness, but he can make out the name Alexandra Mikhailovna Antonova. 

“Sorry. I thought you were someone else,” he admits, wondering why he would be thinking of a ghost. 

“You wouldn’t be the first.” 

“Sorry,” Chuck says, although he’s not the least bit apologetic. “Alexandra. But what are you doing out here by yourself?” he asks, curious since the nearest hospital is ten miles away. 

“I’m waiting for my husband,” she explains.

So at least there’s someone looking out for the injured woman. Well, doctors always said that fresh air was good for patients, but at this time of night? “You’re Russian, right? I knew some Russians once,” he says, unsure of why he’s even mentioning it.

“Oh?”

“Yeah…” He shifts uncomfortable. There’s a silence before the woman speaks again.

“You knew them?”

“Well, I didn’t talk to them much but I saw them everyday. I sort of wish I had.”

“I see. Well, no time like the today?” Alexandra asks.

“It’s too late for that. They died a long time ago.”

“Oh, I see. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“Don’t worry.” Chuck clears his throat. He feels like it’s right to elaborate. “They were a good pair. No my style, but they were soldiers. I think a lot of people were too scared to talk to them,” he adds, not mentioning that he had been one of those people. “I kind of liked them. They were a married couple, I think? First day they came, everyone wanted to bang the wife. Second day, everyone realized they had a better chance of survival in a tank of Kaiju Blue. …She was hot, though.”

Alexandra laughs, and he’s not sure what she found so funny about it. “Look at that.” She motions with her good arm to the skyline behind them. The sky is filled with the twinkling red lights of construction cranes. “They’re building a luxury resort. Beachside. Imagine that. Imagine even thinking of building something like that ten years ago.”

Chuck laughs humorlessly. “Yeah, way back then.” 

“Everything’s moving fast, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Everyone’s moving on, and you’re being left behind?”

Rage flares in him, and Chuck grabs his letter in his hands and prepares to rip it to shreds. 

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Stop it,” she says quietly. “In this world, only the strong survive.”

“What? Not anymore! That was before, now it’s-“

“Nothing’s changed. Only the strong survive. Now, Mr. Hansen, will you survive? When the Breach first opened, humanity had to adapt. Now, humanity has to adapt again. It seems many have…”

“That’s totally different-“

She waves a hand to quiet him, her red lips turning down in a scowl. “Do you think you’re strong?” 

“I don’t really know what ‘strong’ is anymore.” 

“Well, who do you think is strong?”

“My father-“ Chuck begins, before stopping. The memory of Herc’s disappointed face, and Max’s trusting one, when he left Australia for Hong Kong again is too painful. He thinks harder- who would he want to be like now? “There’s a Jap girl I know. Dresses only in gray and blue. I thought she was weak once, and then I thought she was adequate. But she’s gone off and she’s doing things and taking charge of her own life and I can’t even hold down a part-time job at a coffeeshop. She’s talking to the UN and she’s leading the Japanese recovery efforts-“

“Mako Mori,” Alexandra says, nodding knowingly. Something almost like maternal warmth seeps across her face. “…I know of her. Her parents should be proud.”

“Yeah. Mako Mori. I think right now, she’s-“ Chuck shakes his head. Something about this lady is making him feel sentimental, but not enough for him to say anything good about her outloud. 

“Mako Mori isn’t piloting a Jaeger anymore either,” Alexandra says bluntly. “She’s not smashing things, fighting people, or launching into battle… But she’s winning.” 

“And I’m not.”

Alexandra tilts her head. If he could see her eyes, he’d probably see them twinkling. “Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it?”

Chuck tucks the disability envelope back into his jacket. “Up to me.”

“You may not be punching Kaiju, but there’s still much for you to fight.”

There a silence. The crane lights keep twinkling in the smog of Hong Kong.

“It’s late,” Alexandra says, putting a hand on his elbow. “You have an early start tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah… Hey, Alexandra. Do you need a cellphone to call you husband?” Chuck asks. He’s only got a few dollars left on it, but he offers it anyways.

Alexandra laughs. “Don’t worry. I don’t need a cellphone to call him. He knows where I am. I’m just waiting for him.” 

“Okay. Well, I think I have some phone calls to make…” For the first time in a long time, he flashes a smile. It’s a shadow of its old cocky self, but it’s something. “Alexandra, right? I’ll see you around?”

“I doubt it,” Alexandra laughs, and waves a hand as if shooing him away. 

Chuck gives her a thumbs-up and turns back towards the city.

\---------------------------  
“You’ve been doing a good job, Chuck.”

He turns around. It’s Mako, looking older than her true age in a black suit. “The highways aren’t going to build themselves,” he snorts. 

“Well, you’ve really been keeping the construction teams on track.” She smiles for a brief instant. 

Chuck nods, folding his hands over the map of Malaysia. He scrutinizes the old map of roads, highlighting some and scribbling over others with a red marker. Small post-its mark the areas he is about to assign new crews to. “Yeah, sure.”

Mako puts a small card on his desk. It’s an invitation to a new museum exhibit, opening later this week. “Rayleigh just sent me this, and he’s wondering if you want to join us for the opening?”

“What is it? Museums really aren’t my thing.”

“Well, it’s really more of a memorial, I guess. You know that big museum in Russia, the one that had an exhibit on the Kaidanovskys? They’re lending the exhibit to the Smithsonian, and the organizers asked if we wanted to be their and make a few comments.”

“No, really, I’m okay. Besides, I’m flying out to Malaysia tomorrow-“ He squints at an image in the background. It’s a military certificate dated 2009, conferring some kind of honor to an Alexandra M Antonova. “Mako, who’s this Alexandra person?” he asks. 

Mako looks at the card. “Oh, her. Do you remember Sasha Kaidonovsky? Antonova’s her maiden name, and ‘Sasha’ is short for Alexandra.” She gives him a quiet smile. “There’s a lot we didn’t know about our friends.”

“Yeah,” Chuck says, tucking the card into his pocket. “Yeah. Okay, I’ll go.”

“And you’ll say something?” Mako asks, politely doubtful. “Like what?”

The Australian flashes her a grin. “You’ll see.”


End file.
